


take it off

by snugglepup



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bulges, Bulges and Nooks, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Femdom, First Time, First Time Topping, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Idiots in Love, Light Dom/sub, Loss of Virginity, Making Out, Moirails With Pails, Nook Eating, Nook Worship, Nooks, Oral Sex, POV Female Character, Pailing, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Porn, Quadrant Confusion, Sex, Sexual Content, Tentabulges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 16:43:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snugglepup/pseuds/snugglepup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Feferi Peixes and you're floating in your hive, seariously blindsided by the two things you're actshoally for real holding in your hands right now: a waterproofed imperial mandate you haven't opened yet and an extra bucket that the submarine courier drone you were just visited by left bobbing around inside the door to your hive before slamming it shut and spiraling away toward some other poor troll's dwelling place.</p><p>It's not like it isn't tidally obvious what's going on here but you really didn't think this stuff applied to the heiress to the entire empire!</p>
            </blockquote>





	take it off

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a lovely perverted merrail](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=a+lovely+perverted+merrail).



> I'm not unhappy with this fic, but I do want to revisit it later and do a few more editing runs. Also, while it's currently considered a completed work, it is not impossible that I may return to it someday and add bonus chapters.

_when the dark of night comes around_

_that's the time that the animal comes alive_

_looking for something wild_

_ke$ha - take it off_

 

* * *

 

Your name is Feferi Peixes and you're floating in your hive, seariously blindsided by the two things you're actshoally for real holding in your hands right now: a waterproofed imperial mandate you haven't opened yet and an extra bucket that the submarine courier drone you were just visited by left bobbing around inside the door to your hive before slamming it shut and spiraling away toward some other poor troll's dwelling place.

It's not like it isn't tidally obvious what's going on here but you really didn't think this stuff applied to the heiress to the entire empire! You look at the imperial seal holding the mandate's envelope shut, all expensive fuchsia wax stamped with the image of Her Imperious Condescension's smirking face, and you slit that smirk in half with one claw swipe and then tear the whole thing open. It makes you sick to think you share your caste with that disgusting creature. After reading it, the only other thing that shocks you is the deadline: you have precisely the rest of tonight to fill this bucket for the good of the empire or be culled immediately. Is this some kind of reely weird, gross assassination attempt? That would be just like her, you think, and it's been a whale since the last one. It suddenly occurs to you that there's only one bucket, a bucket with a bright pink glittery heart on it; looks like your glorious Empress is insulting you in yet another way, which is that she reely thinks you can't even fill one single bucket, fill your flushed quadrant. It's not even subtle, she might as well have just scribbled 'No one will ever pity you enough to pail you' on the mandate with a waterproof gel pen. Your gills flare angrily as you take a deep breath and realize that you've only got one way to continue living for more than the next few hours and there's only one troll who even lives close enough to your deep-sea hideaway to make that possible.

You try to think clearly, to shake off the fear and face the whale situation calmly, and then you realize that this is in fact going to be impossible if you're thinking clearly because there's really nothing clear-headed about pailing somebody as far as you're aware. It's not like you've exactly been the picture of a dignified and collected lady when you've taken care of urges by yourself... and hey, you've kind of lucked out; as busy as you've been playing around with cuttlefish and exploring deeper into the dark trenches every night and quietly planning the downfall of the empire, you haven't actually gotten around to doing that whole thing in a while. Him, though? That's so weird. That's gonna be so weird, how in the hull are you supposed to... but if you're being honest with yourself it's not like the idea hasn't surfaced before, espeshelly this last sweep since he's been focusing less on attempted genocide and more on living his glubbing life and you've maybe had a few moments when you thought back to that one awful night when you were both six and everything almost fell apart completely and wished he could have just waited longer, until he was somemoby you weren't afraid of. So maybe you can do this. In fact, you can tidally do this, you just have to quit all this worrying and get -EXCITED!

It can't hurt to get an early start, and the clock is ticking awfully fast, so you go around making sure all the windows are all the way covered (which is obviously piranhanoid but waterever) and then you find a comfortable spot and slowly slip a hand up under your shirt, tracing slow lines up your torso with your claws and shivering a little at the sensation. Wow, that's something, you must not have gotten yourself off for even longer than you thought, which was pretty long already. You retract the claws and run your fingertips ever so carefully along your gillslits, it's kinky (you think? it sure feels kinky) and a little bit scary and it makes you shudder and bite your lip. When you're done there a minute or so later, no sense overdoing it, your questing hand finds the soft swell of your left breast. You squeeze it gently, imagining someone else's tongue in your mouth, and then inhale sharply as you begin to tease your already plenty stiffened nipple, rubbing little circles over it with the pad of your thumb. For vestigial organs, boobs are pretty damn nice. Your eyes shut by themselves as your simplistic fantasy slowly grows more vivid and little noises escape your lips in tiny streams of bubbles. You've never exactly been hard to turn on (even by accident; you wonder if he ever figured out where you kept disappearing to all the time when you were younger and why you usually came back blushing) and soon, without really thinking about it, you start your other hand snaking its way under your skirt, moving along the inside of your thigh... and then abruptly you snap out of it and shake your head, feeling dazed and hot. Your hips twitch a little as the tip of your bulge pokes out just far enough to rub against the silky fabric of your underwear when you move.

Yep, that otter do it, alright.

 

* * *

You'd worried maybe you wouldn't hang on to those feelings long enough to swim to his hive but your week or two's worth of pent-up arousal is only getting stronger now that you've set it free. By the time you're there you're sure your cheeks are flushed fuchsia and your gills are fluttering a lot faster than they need to for how little you've exerted yourself on the trip. You climb out of the water and make your way up the incline of half-rotted wooden boards leading to what generally serves as his front door. You're panting a little bit when you finally get to the top, but it's definitely not because you're tired. In fact you're the opposite of tired, if, okay, maybe a tuna bit delirious, wow, the schoolfeeds way back when weren't kidding aboat how intensely mating instincts can mess with your head, you mean it's not like you haven't been known to get wild but knowing you're actually about to pail another troll, that pretty much sinks your metaphorical ship way the hull down into uncharted waters. You bang on his door because the night is still swimming away from you and you'd betta be loud if he's going to hear you from wherever he is right now. The wood buckles a bit under your fist and you try to keep in mind that you're a little low on self-control at the moment and if you let yourself get frustrated and stop holding back most of your royal strength, there won't be anything left of this door but a fan of splintery shrapnel. FIN-ALLY you hear footsteps and let up on the knocking, deciding to just ignore all the fresh dents you made. It's not like this ship isn't a piece of shit already anyway.

"Fef? Wwhat's goin on, I was in the middle of somefin --" but you grab him by the shirt and start pushing and he sputters in confusion as you march him backward and in a few random directions through the weird confusing layout of his rooms until you find a couch which you promptly shove him down on, gently though so you only leave a few cracks in the floor underneath. His eyes are wide but you don't reely give a shit that he gets all jittery whenever something makes him remoramember that you're one reel big hue up the hemospectrum and you could pick him up with one hand and throw him through a wall if you felt like it. It's not like you want to hurt him, though. Well, maybe you've entertained the idea of hurting him just a little bit, because on the way over you came up with a major haul of interesting ideas that might make things a lot less awkward and a whale lot more fin.

 "Wwhoa, no, really, Fef, could you maybe say some glubbin wwords so I got some idea wwhat's happenin right now," says Eridan Ampora, your moirail of pretty much all eight sweeps of your life, and you stand there hesitating all of a sudden because you're supposed to be pale and it's ERIDAN down there and this whole thing is incredibly filthy and wrong, but right now you're mostly thinking with your bulge and, you know, hey, maybe that's not such a bad thing to think with once in a while, maybe you could stand to let go of outdated images of people and let your instincts shape your perceptions, so after a few seconds when he opens his mouth to say something else you shut him up by dropping down to straddle him on the couch, a knee on each side keeping him from squirming too much and making it much easier for you to push your tongue in between his teeth. Whatever he was about to say is long gone half a second after that.

It's weird, actshoally making out with somebody outside of your imagination, the roughish textures of tongues rubbing against each other, breathing hard and ragged together almost like you're one person, the way you both keep opening and closing your eyes and how when his are closed he looks so lost and dazed and when they're open it feels kind of like you're staring straight into each others' souls, the unexpected chains of pleasing events, like when he drags shaky claws up your back and you arch into it, getting your shirt halfway shredded and feeling the sharp tips score the thinnest of scratches on your skin so that without even thinking you maneuver your fangs around his lower lip and bite down and listen to him squeak, feel his body shudder underneath you, taste just a hint of his blood.

Eventually you pull away and you both just sit there reeling from the intensity of it all, he's wide-eyed and blasted and you're twitchy and hot and struggling to keep your bulge from just unsheathing all at once and probably punching a hole right through your underwear in the process, cod, why are all your clothes so damn TIGHT, but it's hard when you actually think aboat what you just did, glubbing hull, and then he breaks the period of breath-catching with that silly mouth of his.

"I thought, uh, I'm pretty shore I remember you sayin some things about the sanctity of moirallegiance and howw you nevver thought of me that way and nevver wwould, uh, a couple a swweeps ago," he says, and you giggle and rebalance and lean in closer.

"Moby I changed my mind, you doofish," you say, "It's been two sweeps! You grew up."

"So did you," he says, gaze drifting just a bit south of your face, and you pull his head back up with two fingers pinching one of his fins; evidently torn between the sharp pain and the severe intimacy of someone touching him there, he whimpers a bit. Oh, you like that noise, you hope you'll be hearing a lot more of it real soon. "Hey, wwhat the fuck -- ohhh, okay, that's cool," as you grab his hands and press them against your breasts. After some fondling that feels nice for you and seems to feel reel nice for him, just when you're getting board and ready to swim on to the next thing, he gets this coy look on his face that makes the tip of your bulge (currently about an inch out and more than a little achy from confinement) start spreading fluid inside your underwear and says, "You knoww it's pretty fuckin rude to get all on a guy's expensivve couch wwith soakin wwet clothes."

"Whale, I wonder what we can do aboat that?" you reply, very pleased that your boy can in fact be sexy on purpose and not just accidentally, and when a few more seconds pass and he's obviously too nervous to take the next step without a little help you roll your eyes kindly and take his hands AGAIN and clasp them firmly around the bottom of your shirt. You arch your back and raise your arms as he pulls up, almost dizzy with excitement, and you can't see for a second and then it's done, your wrecked garment slops onto the floor and now you're kneeling on top of Eridan Ampora half-naked, flushed all over the place physically and if you're being honest with yourself more than a tuna bit emotionally, and he finally gets hold of some glubbing initiative and massages your breasts with both hands while you toy with his horns (eliciting some more lovely noises) and just watch in overwhelming lust and mild disbelief as an actual other person's digits rub and tweak your bright fuchsia nipples. There's a high whining sound that's new to the situation and it takes you a little while to realize that you're the source. You can feel your bulge straining inside of you and you're reely gonna have do somefin about that soon because it's getting to the point where it actshoally hurts, like, hurts enough for the pleasure of torturing yourself to be replaced with something like literal torture. You shove him back, ignoring his cry of protest, and then get off the couch, limbs shaky and unreliable. He watches with what appears to be awe as you fumble at your skirt and tug it down until it's spread out in a colorful pile at your feet. All that's left now is your underwear and at this point enough of your bulge is stretching it and staining it with your fluids that it's almost more indecent than not having it on at all. You still hesitate a bit and then psyche yourself up, remembering to stay ---EXCITED!, and before the panties have even made it all the way past your ankles your bulge declares that it has quite simply had enough and over the course of a few exceptionally satisfying and sexy seconds during which you involuntarily lean your head back and moan long and low in relief, pushes its way out of you completely to wriggle and twist in the cold air.

"Holy shit," Eridan whispers, and you think you have some idea of how he's feeling but it's also pretty awkward being completely naked in front of somebody who's completely clothed. Betta do somefin about that, then! He squeaks again when you get down on the floor and pretty much rip off his stripy hipster pants all at once, seariously, the noises this boy makes are keeling you, and it turns out he's so turned on his own boring buoy underwear's soaked through with purple and transparent enough for you to sort of make out the outline of his bulge through fabric that must be a lot looser than yours was. You're so done with wasting time at this point, so after making a searious mental note to start coercing this sexy dork into cross-dressing you scoot forward, rip his underwear apart with your claws and take a moment to examine the lovely sight laid out before you. His bulge is a darker purple than yours, with pretty little ridges in a few places, and it's also adorably small, maybe a little bit less than two thirds the length of yours and half the girth at its base.

"You're such a TUNA little thing," you giggle, poking at it gently, and after another shivery squeak he frowns and growls a little, apparently trying to defend his dignity (as if Eridan Ampora ever had a shred of dignity in his life).

"More like you went 'n traded yours with a kraken or somefin," he says, almost sounding worried, "That's, like, that's porno big." You've never actually watched any porn so he might be right aboat that, not like it reely matters. It'll fit just fin, you're sure, if his nook is anything like as stretchy as yours is. Then again, maybe your nook is that stretchy because of all the times you've stuck your own bulge in it. Waterever! It'll work out.

"I'll be gentle," you murmur soothingly, looking up again to meet his eyes, but in the process he catches sight of how much fang your smile is showing despite yourself and you're pretty sure that neither of you is sure how much gentleness you'll be capable of when you finally stop teasing the both of you and get to the REEL pailing. In the meantime, you think it's time for some exploring, so you wrap your fingers carefully around his cute little bulge (maybe you don't have to be careful but it just looks so DELICATE) and tug on it so that he squeals and slips downward on the couch, giving you a much betta angle to sea what's underneath that pretty little appendage, which, incidentally, is now slickly coiling around your wrist, and wow is that ever a hull of thing to feel. You shove your face low in between his legs and take a look.

His NOOK, though. Wow. Now that's fucking pretty, wow, wow, okay, this gorgeous glistening slit that's just begging to have your bulge shoved in it as far as it'll go, every last one of your nineteen inches, but you think maybe it's time for somebody else to get teased for a whale even if it prolongs your own state of sex-crazed desperation so you pry his bulge off your wrist and spread this wonderful little thing open with your thumbs, you can see inside just a tuna bit before the first big curve starts and now that it's open it's started to drip, thin strings of violet  pooling on the floor not so far away from where your bulge has already drooled out a downright puddle of fuchsia, and the clock is still tick tick ticking somewhere and more importantly you just HAVE to know what all of that tastes like, whether it's anything like how you taste, so you tilt your head up to plant a little kiss on the base of his bulge and then run your tongue all over the outside of his nook. It's sort of like how you taste except more salty and less sweet and he writhes like a caught eel and whimpers high and endless as you go to town on him, licking up inside his pulsing inner curves, sticking your tongue out as far as it'll go until you're practically pailing him with it, pulling out some every so often to go back to tormenting him with circular movements around his tender entrance, his hands are wrapped around your horns pulling your face into his crotch and sending dizzy buzzing sensations all through your body, you could get lost in this, if it wasn't for your bulge thrashing up against your stomach like it has a mind of its own you feel like you could spend an eternity in this space with this heat and taste and motion and let's not forget the NOISES, the noises are going to destroy you, you're a girl and you're pretty sure nothing this high-pitched has ever come out of you, between his beautifully helpless whimpers and his almost musical half-coherent squeals of "Fef" and "oh cod Fef don't stop" and "fuck right there oh fuck" you're a new creature and you've got no clue how long you spend doing this but after about half a dozen sweeps he makes further use of his grip on your horns to shove you away, gasping for breath.

"O-okay, okay, wwait, Fef, fuck, you gotta, I need it, I need you in, in there, right now, ain't gonna survvivve much more of this," and you take a deep breath you hadn't noticed you really needed yourself and work on wiping off the violet that's gotten its sticky self all over your face. You look at him there, his hips still making involuntary circles, bulge coiled around his own wrist now, fangs sunk into his lip so that you can see a little trickle of blood down his chin, and you're wearing a wicked, cheery smile when you reply.

"Say please," are the words you form, and you finally permit yourself to run your hand slowly up and down the length of your bulge as you drink in the look of total surprise on his lust-wracked face. "Come on, don't be such a pufferfish! I want to hear you say please, some time this sweep, moby," and the Eridan you knew when you were six would probably have been outraged or somefin but the Eridan you've just been eating out moans and complies.

"Please," he says, no, more like begs, "please Fef, please just pail me already, pleeeaaase," and that last one is what you were waiting for, the needy wail that's like hot lightning all through the length of you and at least as satisfying as touching yourself if not more.

"What a good little fishy," you murmur, and then you get up and start walking away.

"Wwait, wwhat the fuck, wwhere the fuck you goin?" he squeaks, sounding horrified, and you roll your eyes again because does this boy even use that lovely head of his, seariously.

"I'm going wherever you keep your bucket, silly," you say, and he spews directions along with some more begging that you certainly don't mind one tuna bit. A couple of agonizingly long minutes later you're back with this ridiculous pail that's actshoally for real inlaid with little jewels, where does he even get this stuff, and you set it on the floor by the couch where he's still lying like the good boy he is, and you position yourself over him, watch him for a bit, all wide-eyed and panting and YOURS. "Hope you're ready!" you say cheerfully and then kiss him long and deep as you finally, FIN-ALLY work your bulge down and slide the tip into his nook.

There is nothing else in the world like this feeling, there reely isn't, and both of you seem to lose all control over the impressively wide variety of noises you can make into each others' mouths as your bulge slithers deeper and deeper into him, mapping out and navigating the twisting tunnel of his insides inch by inch, and every one of those inches is another inch of maddening pulsing heat and slickness, he's clawing from the middle of your back up to your shoulders and probably drawing blood and you glubbing love it, you FUCKING love it, and he has to stop you a few times to catch his breath and wrap his legs around your lower back as his nook gets stretched wider and wider before finally it's done with and your thighs are pressed firmly against his butt, his bulge curled back and dripping all over his stomach as he's alternating between more of those glass-shattering whimpers you've fallen in lust with and long deep hard moans, noises with pitch all up and down the scale, and either you're not making any sound at all most of the time or he's so unbereefably loud you can't even hear the animal you've become, no, it's definitely the second thing because even if your own audio is muffled to nothing you can feel the vibrations it's sending through your tongue and your throat and your chest and even your gillslits, you're practically one body now as far as you're concerned and together you're a beautiful symphony and a blazing chaos at the same time, what else could you be when you're joined like this, thrashing at his winding insides that you're pretty sure you've stretched out by six or eight inches minimum, feeling every single glubbing inch of that tight slick maze as it pulses against your desperate bulge, the bulge with its tip pressing open the seedflap nestled at the very end of his nook, and everything's melted into a single never-ending moment, you're conchvinced that you've somehow broken reality and are now tidally outside of time and this tsunami of stimulated senses will in fact encompass the rest of your life and you reely don't mind in the least.

And then you come. Your whole body stiffens, becomes a storm of maddened ecstasy as long heavy waves of hot fluid pump through your bulge. Every inch of his nook clenches down on you, instinctively holding you in place while your royal slurry floods through his seedflap to pour through more winding passages and fill something even deeper inside and you groan convulsively while he buries his face in the crook of your neck and shrieks loud enough that if you weren't entirely overloaded with other feelings it would probably hurt your aural canals, and this part doesn't go on forever but it goes on whale of a lot longer than getting yourself off does, you can actually feel his seedflap pulling on the spurting tip of your bulge to draw in every drop of fluid possible, holy shit is that intense, and then finally, FINALLY the comedown as the pulses slow and your body loosens up and then gives way and you collapse on top of him, your bulge detaching from his innermost spot and drawing back up out of him and into you, and you just lie there, eyes rolled back and lungs and even gills (unhealthy as that might be) gasping desperately for air. Everything is so warm and wet and close and Eridan's arms are wrapped tight around you, stinging the myriad scratches in your skin but even that feels good, and while he continues to buck and thrash he's practically sobbing into your ear, "I lovve you, I lovve you so much, Fef, oh god, I lovve you," and this is heaven, it reely, reely is.

"I love you too," you manage to croak, "I reely do, I love you," and after indulging in a couple minutes of cuttling you shakily push yourself up off of him and drag the bucket over to what seems like a reasonable spot given the angle his body's at, and you take his bulge in your hands and squeeze and stroke it from the base upward, fascinated by how it's actually a tuna bit thicker and longer than before, you think because of the pressure of all of your slurry up inside him, and it must be extra sensitive because the whole time you work him over he's wailing and ripping long furrows over and over into his stained and wrecked furniture, and then suddenly he's over the edge and on his way to more or less the same place you are, he sounds like he's choking on another earsplitting shriek and a few dozen expletives all at once, and then it all lets go and a small fountain of violet from his bulge barely misses your face as it deflates and his seedflap must be letting go somewhere up in there because a second later a rush of swirled fuchsia and violet pours out from his nook, splashing into the bucket and also all over the floor around it. He goes slack all at once and you're almost afraid he's passed out, but then he slowly and tremulously raises a hand to your face and strokes your cheek once, slowly, in what is such a depraved usage of one of the ultimate pale gestures that it's probably literally illegal. Whale, what the fuck, this entire thing has been bassically a disgusting perversion of that sanctity of quadrants you apparently gave half a shit about two sweeps ago, and you loved and love every second of it almost as much as you finally reely comprehend you love this newer, less blood-crazed and possessive Eridan Ampora. "Fuck the Empress," you mumble to yourself, "fuck... quadrants."

"Wwuh?" You giggle weakly, shake your head, shrug.

There's a knock at the door and both of you startle, Eridan almost punching you in the face in the process. He looks baffled and a little bit scared so you kiss him on the forehead and palm his cheek so he goes all half-lidded and dazed. Then you struggle off the couch, drag the pail with you to the door and open it, standing there completely naked and dripping genetic material all over the place. You hand the pail over to the drone before it even has a chance to ask. One of its many gleaming black eyes pops forward and scans the bucket's contents with a little flickering ray of light.

"Feferi Peixes and Eridan Ampora," the drone says in a deep electronic buzz, "Your contribution has been acknowledged and accepted. All glory to the Empire." You lean forward, looking into that field of eyes that hide cod knows how many different sorts of recording devices through which you're fairly sure Her Imperious Condescension herself either is watching or will watch later, and you stick out your tongue and extend a sticky middle finger before the drone's boosters engage and it lifts off into the sky, leaving diagonal streaks of ash on the deck of Eridan's inclined hive. You shut the door, take a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then stumble back to the couch. He's half-asleep already, you don't think he even knows what just happened and you'd rather keep it that way. You shove him over a little to make room against his muttered protests and then the last of your energy gives out and you smack down onto the tattered cushions. He wriggles an arm around you and nestles his head against your chest.

"Wwho was that?" he asks, and you know he's close enough to unconsciousness that he won't remember this last part, so you ruffle his hair and say the first thing that comes to mind.

"Wrong address," you lie incredibly obviously, and he nods like you just said something perfectly reasonable, then tilts his head up and blearily scans your face as if he's not sure whether or not you're reel. "Love you," you slur, "carp aboat this in the evening, 'kay?" He nods, a glazed sort of contentment moves across his pretty face, and a second later he's snoring. You giggle, clutch him tight, and shut your eyes. Outside dawn is breaking already and you couldn't possibly be any more worn out than you are right now.

As far as assassination attempts go, that one went pretty well, you think to yourself, and then you think aboat how incredible the last who knows how long was and how you still somehow only managed to try moby one percent of all the interesting things you thought up on the swim here, and then you think about how there's still tomorrow night, and the night after that, and the night after that, and in the last seconds before you join your silly boy in highly unwise sopor-free sleep, you seariously consider sending the Empress herself another pre-filled bucket as a thank-you gift for her consideration.


End file.
